


Twice Blest

by pureselfindulgence



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:31:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pureselfindulgence/pseuds/pureselfindulgence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the dramatic events of 4x16, Elizabeth decides to keep Neal at a distance...but doesn't find it easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twice Blest

**Author's Note:**

> Because there has to be some thinky thought behind El's change of attitude towards Neal between 5x1 and 5x2, but also because angst-bunnies. Posted as the October entry for my **wc_women_fest** 12 in 12.

The moment that Peter's arms close around her, there on the steps of the courthouse, is one that Elizabeth will never forget. As she buries her face in his shoulder, for the first time in far, far too long, every sensation floods in to fill the aching hollow that grief and fear and anger have dug deep into the very center of her.

She can hear his breathing, feel it, feel the tiny hitch put there by deep emotion; can smell the hint of his sweat, overlaid by his aftershave, shampoo, and the faintly acrid scent of fresh dry cleaning. He is solid in her arms once more, and she is sheltered in his, though they are both trembling with relief, and redemption, and love.

All she can see, eyes open or closed, is his smile in that breathless second before their embrace. They stand completely wrapped in each other for a lifetime, and it isn't long enough.

On the drive home, they hold hands and kiss at every stop light. They can't stop touching each other in a kind of incredulous pleasure. But something in the back of Elizabeth's mind can't stop comparing the light in Peter's eyes now with the pain and confusion of prison, when his entire world had gone wrong; and she can't decide whether these thoughts are strange in the circumstances...or the most natural thing in the world.

Strange or natural, when they walk in the door, even while she laughs to see her husband drop down and wrestle with a dog made hysterical with joy, she feels a cold little knot of resolution take root in her heart.

_Never again._

***

A couple of nights later, Peter sits with the laptop on his knee, staring at the screen. There is work awaiting El on the table, but she cannot stop herself from asking him what he is doing, because it is so good to have him at home doing anything, anything at all. It is so good just to hear his voice answering her.

It is all so very good that at first she doesn't care what he says, so long as he is there and she can look into his face, and so she lets herself be drawn into another of those tireless, endless musings on Neal. What is he doing? What has he done?

She lets him run on until something, some note in Peter's voice, some look of absorption in his eyes, suddenly chills her. He is in too deep again, and the last time that happened—

Fear and anger surge back, like a physical blow, and her whole being tenses against a strike that will crush her, bring her to her knees, drive her to the ground. It is unbearable, she cannot go through that again, and she desperately tries to pull him up short. He cannot, he _must not_ become emotionally entangled with Neal again.

Peter agrees—and in the sheer, limp relief she feels, it is easy to ignore the reluctance in that agreement. She watches him armor himself, his expression taking on something of implacability, as he prepares to end a partnership, end this terrible chapter of their lives.

If Neal brings himself down, he will not be allowed to take Peter with him.

Never again.

***

The relief she feels that night is short-lived. To her confusion, to her chagrin, she can feel it fading, souring over the days that follow. And as frustrating as it may be, it becomes increasingly clear to her that once again, Neal is the reason.

It should have been over, once Peter came back and told her everything was settled. But on that night, after they found reassurance and comfort in each other, she found herself listening to Peter's breathing and knew that he was lying awake.

By unspoken agreement, Neal has not been mentioned again—and yet perversely, he is haunting them, a ghost of absence rather than presence. He is conspicuously _missing_ whenever she washes the mug he always used for his coffee, or when Satchmo looks up at the doorbell with a faint, hopeful whine.

Most of all, he is gone when Peter comes home, and she asks about his day. She had hoped to find some of the worry, some of the strain lifted from her husband. Instead, what he lacks is the amusement, the spark of engagement and excitement in his work. He talks dully of paperwork and the logistics of his promotion, of a rise in pay grade, of the new car.

And once in bed, she can't so easily ignore her memories. Some are of Peter, the catch in his voice when he said it was time for a change, the slight slump in his shoulders when he walked out the door. But most are of Neal, the day before Peter's hearing.

A thousand times, she sees his face the instant she accused him of only helping Peter in order to save himself. She remembers the quick blink of surprise, the flash of hurt swiftly covered in practiced blandness, and his quietly controlled acceptance of her apology. He would have reacted exactly the same way had she slapped him.

She tries to believe that she was entirely justified, that everyone will adjust, that it's all for the best. She tries to convince herself that Peter must be protected at any and all costs, and that it would be the worst kind of mistake to reopen the doors they are trying to close. She wrestles with her own rebellious heart.

Never again, she tells herself repeatedly. Never again.

***

After nearly a week, Elizabeth calls Neal and arranges to meet him for lunch. She hardly knows herself whether she wants closure or reconciliation, and she arrives at the restaurant half an hour early in a fit of nerves. Her own doubts and indecision tear at her, and more than once, she nearly leaves.

Finally, Neal walks in. He is exactly on time, and seems as immaculate and debonair as ever. Yet as he spots her, and moves to join her, she cannot shake the feeling that something is very off.

While they trade inconsequential greetings, she studies him covertly, trying to pin that wrongness down. There is nothing obvious; it is all tiny pieces, each subtly awry. When realization strikes, it is all at once.

Neal is too still. His hands are folded in front of him, not toying with his water glass, not testing the vellum weight of the menu. His shoulders are squared, his spine erect. But it is his expression that is the most telling, for it tells nothing at all. He is practiced, polished, poised...betraying nothing beyond polite and pleasant attention.

It is his con mask, and that recognition shatters the brittle protections she has woven of resentment and pain. It cuts her to the heart, because abruptly it is horrible, too horrible for words, that Neal should look like this with her. She had thought she might be distant with him, but he is the one locked a million miles away.

All her half-rehearsed phrases, all the things she had thought she might say, fly out of her head. Instead, she finds herself reaching across the table, laying a hand on his.

"Look, you have to _try_ not to get Peter arrested again," she says in a rush. Even as the words leave her mouth, though, she finds herself questioning them. Was it really Neal who got Peter arrested? Can you blame him for not knowing a man he last saw as a toddler, for wanting to believe in his long-lost father?

Elizabeth shakes her head in rueful answer to those thoughts, and finds a smile—tremulous, but full of warmth—tugging at her lips. "But if there's one thing we've all learned lately, it's that family always causes complications."

Neal gives a slightly shaky laugh, and with that, his mask falls away. His blue eyes are full of astonishment, but also a hesitant hope that calls to her mind, with a pang of guilt, of the way Peter looked on the steps of the courthouse. The hand under hers is trembling, and that vulnerability sweeps away the vestiges of her bitterness, leaving her soul clean once more, ready to begin healing.

She can and does forgive, even if she can't forget—so she stands up, and comes around the table, and hugs Neal.  
There is something she will remind Peter of tonight, something that she has just learned anew: cautious as she might wish to be, and complicated and exasperating as Neal certainly is, they _can't_ cut him out of their lives. It only hurts to try.

_Never again._


End file.
